Crudus
by rubie
Summary: Yami no Matsuei oneshot, based on Hisoka's thoughts in his youth and his views on the people around him. He attempts to deal with the hate and fear people direct him because of his powers, and finds comfort in a person who only exists in darkness...


Crudus is latin meaning "to bleed from a wound." tense swaping.. its partly on purpose,  
since that's the only thing that defines the present from the past.. It happens in the first  
scene, then a mix of it in the middle... really confusing.. I screwed up somewhere...-.-;;   
  
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Crudus  
by Rubie aka Jenn  
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It rained blood today.  
  
The thick sanguine fluid streaked onto the windows and burned itself into the earth. It  
soaked into the gardens and left ruby tinted waters that spread like silky fingers across the  
trees.  
  
But when I told my caretaker this, she simply smiled and shook her head.   
  
'No,' she said. 'It was the angle of the sunlight that reflected on the moon, that painted its  
face with blood. It glowed red in the night, and spread that light across the stars, and  
made a crimson rain.'  
  
But there was blood.  
  
Death hung thickly in the air, so thick that breathing hurt. It seemed that each breath I  
took was filled with that coppery liquid, sweet and bitter at the same time.  
  
There was a range in this town, a pain in people's hearts, an illness in this household.  
  
People were hurting.  
  
People were bleeding.  
  
People were dying.  
  
The caretaker became fearful when I told her that. She did not show it though, but only  
excused herself carefully. She was scared of me.  
  
I could hear.  
  
I know.  
  
She hates me.  
  
I know that in her eyes, I am that eight year old boy with glowing demon eyes, who seems  
to able to see her heart, and pry at those shields. I have the power to shred at those walls  
around her spirit, and let her be burned by the fire around her.  
  
Is that why she hates me?  
  
Is that why everybody hates me?  
  
Because I seem to hear those voices? Those dark voices whispering silently in their  
hearts; those voices that betray their pain?  
  
Is that why? Because I know their secrets?  
  
Then their hearts must be tainted, if they guard their secrets that desperately. They must  
be full of hatred and fear, if they were to shield them from each other like that. Why else  
would their hold their secrets so dear, unless they were evil? Why else would you take on  
that facade or happiness, and try so hard to be like each other, if you didn't believe you  
are evil yourself?  
  
And they think I hurt them. They are the ones who hurt themselves.  
  
Liars.  
  
They're all liars.  
  
But perhaps I should have lied. If I have never said anything, then maybe she wouldn't be  
going to my father now.  
  
So I turn to that boy from the shadows. He is always by my side, watching me. Somehow,  
no one else sees him the way I do. But he is never there when I need him, and only  
watches silently. He never helps me, and only speaks to me when I'm alone.  
  
But he is my friend.  
  
"I should have kept silent." I whisper softly, so softly that my ears could barely hear.  
  
But he can hear. He always hears what I have to say. He smiles back at me sincerely, and  
says gently, "It is not your fault."  
  
"My father is going to take me," I tell him.  
  
His empty eyes stare back, like those patches of black painted by the light of the moon.  
His body blends into that darkness, and molds so perfectly that I have to strain my eyes to  
see. Even then, his shape is burly and weak.  
  
"I'll go with you," he assures me. "I'll always be with you."  
  
***  
  
"Mother, tell me a story," I asked her.   
  
It was a night sometime around my fifth year, I had forgotten exactly when. I said the  
same words to her every night, and every night, she smiled with the same smile, and  
watched me with the same eyes.  
  
The only things different were the stories.  
  
"Once upon a time, in a land far, far away...."  
  
I felt like laughing then, but I didn't. I didn't want her to hate me. But that phrase was old  
and worn with use. And like all her stories, they would end happily, where the prince and  
princess would elope after an hour's acquaintance, and declare themselves eternally in  
love. People's lives were either completely happy or completely evil.  
  
But the endings always seemed so perfect. I suppose that's why the stories always began  
with that phrase, to remind us how unattainable happiness was; and how we may never  
fully claim it.  
  
So instead, I watched my mother carefully; the way she slid her fingers across the wooden  
chair beside my bed and tucked the blankets around my chin. Her eyes gleamed, and she  
gestured gracefully with her hands. But her heart was always the same.  
  
"Why do you tell me stories if you hate telling them?" I asked her.  
  
She froze.  
  
"You don't like telling me stories. You don't like spending time with me at all. You think  
I'm a waste of time; you could do so many things in my absence. You are only here  
because you felt obligated. You...."  
  
Fear.  
  
My mother feared me.  
  
***  
  
He is standing at the stairs, looking at the wood grained door. Does he expect it to open?  
Does it expect his mother to come to him, release him from this gilded cage, and tell him  
how she's sorry, how she really loves him?  
  
Does he really expect them to bend to a boy like you, who has lost to everybody including  
yourself?  
  
He cannot be that foolish.  
  
They hate you.  
  
You know it.  
  
Everybody hates you but me.  
  
***  
  
"What are you doing here?" I remember asking an older boy, one night when the moon  
was new, and the night sky embraced it like its child, so tightly that you could not discern  
the stars from the night. The skies were crying again, even though it could not feel pain.  
He had seen me walking through the gardens, and I doubt he recognized who I was then,  
but now I know otherwise. How old was I then, six? I must have been so desperate for  
anyone who was willing to speak back to me.  
  
"Because I want to be your friend."  
  
He was lying, I knew. I could hear. For reasons why, I did not know. He was guarding his  
thoughts carefully. But his face was kind, and I wanted to believe him.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
I stared at him, half disbelieving, but nevertheless, wanting to believe. Then I felt myself  
nodding even though I knew he was lying.  
  
He laughed. No, he was laughing inside. And the night seemed to echo his chortle. The  
stars blinked smugly, and the brush beside me rocked with suppressed laughter. He won.  
He had won the bet with his friends. They have made a fool out of me.   
  
He lied.  
  
I knew he was lying, yet....  
  
Fool!  
  
Fool!  
  
Fool!  
  
I wanted to scream then. I was raging inside. He betrayed me, like all those adults who  
betrayed me. They smiled with their fringed smiles but watched me warily through the  
corners of their eyes. And I could feel them, carefully closing their hearts.  
  
I hate them.  
  
I hate them all!  
  
Then with a cry, I pushed at that boy. His shirt was rough under my fingers, and the air  
was cold where my robes opened itself to the night air. The stars danced wildly in the sky,  
but the moon was no where to be seen. That was the first time I thought the heavens made  
a crimson rain.  
  
And then the earth flew up to hit me in the face. I laid on that moist grass for a long time.  
  
I had lost.  
  
I always lost.  
  
***  
  
There is no sound in this empty room. The lights play across the painfully polished  
floorboards, but they refuse to play with me. Their dance is elaborate and fascinating, like  
the chords of a hidden song.   
  
And he sits at the base of the stairs, still staring, still hoping, still dreaming for something  
that he wishes for but will never own.  
  
But he has me.  
  
And I am all he will ever need.  
  
So I tell him something that he has realized long ago, but could never bring himself to  
master.  
  
"You are who you want others to see. It doesn't matter who you are, or what you want to  
be. So you can lie, you can smile, you can frown, you can cry, but only show people what  
you want them to know," I tell him, carefully watching his mask of indifference.  
Watching that brown hair flutter over his eyes, and at that moment, I could feel my  
fingers tensing as if wanting to brush those strands of silk. But my fingers never touch, or  
maybe he never lets me touch him. Or perhaps I do not let myself touch him, because I  
know I never can?  
  
No, he doesn't want me to touch him. So instead, I watch him. I watch those lights flicker  
dimly in his eyes, blending with the shadows like me.  
  
And like me, he'll never be like them.  
  
***  
  
'The Kurosaki heir is a demon.'  
  
'That boy?'  
  
'Yes, he ......'  
  
'....... steals ......'  
  
'....knows secrets .....'  
  
'....cursed.....'  
  
Demon.  
  
Demon.  
  
Demon.  
  
Liar!  
  
That's not true!  
  
'He...'  
  
Shut up!  
  
Leave me alone!  
  
Go away!  
  
Go away!  
  
***  
  
The little boy is hiding. The streaks of that crimson light curves around the wood-grained  
floors of the basement, but he shields from it. He clings to the darkness at the edges of the  
room, and buries his face in the folds of his robes. He looks frightened, somehow, and  
when I call to him, he does not hear me. But he continues to grasp at those robes, so  
tightly that his hands are losing that bloody hue.  
  
So I walk to him slowly, lightly so that my footsteps make no sound. The light flows  
around me like silky waters, but I stroke it lightly and it leaves no paint on the floor. He  
does not notice me. And when I place my hand on his, he pulls away as if I am repulsive.  
  
"I'm sorry," I say softly, "I didn't mean to scare you."  
  
He looks at me with widened eyes, looking but not seeing.  
  
"Leave me alone."  
  
***  
  
Leave me alone.  
  
I don't want to be touched. I hate being touched. I'm not use to it. I hate it.  
  
My father never touches me, unless it is out of anger.  
  
My mother never touches me, unless its out of obligation.  
  
And my caretaker... well... she touches me even though she hates me. And that only  
makes it all the more obvious.  
  
There's no sincerity. There never is any. Why do they even bother with that pretense?  
  
If you hate me, then why don't you say so?  
  
Just say it!  
  
Don't make me say it.  
  
***  
  
His eyes are blank, and he is limp. His body is slumped against the cool darkened walls of  
the confined room. But even now, he hides from the moonlight as if it burns him. And  
when I brush my fingers across his skin, it is as if I am a ghost and he cannot feel me.   
  
"I know what you're thinking," I tell him. "I know how you're feeling. But it's useless  
screaming if no one can hear you."  
  
He doesn't react to my words. Instead, he turns his face away, his jade eyes flickering for  
a moment.  
  
"If you close your heart from them," I whisper, "then they'll never hurt you. If you always  
lie to them, then they'll never fear you."  
  
***  
  
But I want them to love me.  
  
My friend, don't you understand? I want them to love me.  
  
I want them to look at me, and for once, speak to me without that fear. I want them to  
look at me, and see me without knowing me. I want them to try to know me, and not  
know me from what others have said of me.  
  
I want to be like them.  
  
I want to be one of them.  
  
Yet I know I never can.  
  
But I don't need them.  
  
I don't need any of them.  
  
***  
  
"You'll never be like them," I tell the little boy with jade eyes, hiding in the shadows as if  
he wants to be apart of them. "Just don't say anything. People will not know. People will  
not fear. Then no one will hate you."  
  
***  
  
Shut up!  
  
I don't care anymore.  
  
I don't!  
  
Leave me alone.  
  
Just leave me alone.  
  
Go away!  
  
***  
  
He looks at he then, his green eyes still empty. He stares right through me, but I know that  
he can see me. He is listening, so I tell him more.  
  
"You cannot ignore them. You'll never be able to live with the knowledge that you have  
the power to make them fear you, hate you, hide from you. You'll always cause pain."  
  
He grimaces, and I reach towards his face again, my hand blending with the moonlight as  
if I am water, and my body leaves no patches of black across the wooden floor. Even  
when I touch his face, and stroke his hair, the thin strands glide through my fingers. And  
though he cannot feel it, he understands, and he will listen.   
  
Because he knows that I am telling him exactly what he wants to hear, but is only afraid  
of telling himself.  
  
He is making himself lose.  
  
"You are a demon. You hurt people. You tear at their souls, you steal their hearts. You  
shred at their minds, and drown in their blood."  
  
***  
  
Liar!  
  
It is not true.  
  
It is not!  
  
People drown me with their blood.  
  
People drown me with their hatred.  
  
Pain.  
  
Frustration.  
  
Fear.  
  
I do not make them bleed.  
  
I make myself bleed.  
  
  
End  
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Somehow, Hisoka sounds like he has schizophrenia... -.-;;;;;;;;;  
  
umm.. first Yami no Matsuei fic... got my curiousity arroused after reading Until We  
Meet Again by Shi Lin-san, (its a great fic! I couldn't fully enjoy it until I started reading  
the series.. now its become addicting)... 'Ooo! A manga about dead people? }' Finally  
got the whole translation of the Chinese title: Fell in love with a bad bad dead guy o.O?  
uhh... -.-;;  
  
Arigatou Onion-san, for giving me this idea! I donnuo what view to take on this story  
exactly, should it be told through the friend, through Hisoka, or through a mix of the two?  
I attempted trying out Hisoka... then took a dive when I tried to write it through the  
friend.. and ended up combining views. I'm not sure how it turned out though.. any  
comments or suggestions on this is great!  
  
umm.. draft version, mostly because I can't figure out which view I should stick with...  
Also, this fic is confusing.. -.-;; Umm.. the friend = imaginary friend. I reaaaaaaaally  
screwed up. umm..... oh well....   



End file.
